Virgil's Æneid.
Book XI

translated by John
Dryden.

THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF THE
AENEIS

THE ARGUMENT.-- AEneas erects
a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius, grants a truce for burying the
dead,
and sends home the body of Pallas with great solemnity. Latinus calls a
council, to propose offers of peace to AEneas;
which occasions great animosity betwixt Turnus and Drances. In the mean
time there is a sharp engagement of the horse; wherein Camilla
signalizes
herself; is kill'd; and the Latine troops are
entirely defeated.

SCARCE
had
the rosy Morning rais'd her head Above the waves, and left
her wat'ry
bed; The pious chief, whom
double cares
attend For his unburied soldiers
and his
friend, Yet first to Heav'n
perform'd a
victor's vows: He bar'd an ancient oak of
all her
boughs; Then on a rising ground
the trunk
he plac'd, Which with the spoils of
his dead
foe he grac'd. The coat of arms by proud
Mezentius
worn, Now on a naked snag in
triumph borne, Was hung on high, and
glitter'd
from afar, A trophy sacred to the God
of War. Above his arms, fix'd on
the leafless
wood, Appear'd his plumy crest,
besmear'd
with blood: His brazen buckler on the
left was
seen; Truncheons of shiver'd
lances hung
between; And on the right was
placed his
corslet, bor'd; And to the neck was tied
his unavailing
sword. A crowd of chiefs
inclose
the godlike man, Who thus, conspicuous in
the midst,
began: "Our toils, my friends,
are crown'd
with sure success; The greater part
perform'd, achieve
the less. Now follow cheerful to the
trembling
town; Press but an entrance, and
presume
it won. Fear is no more, for
fierce Mezentius
lies, As the first fruits of
war, a sacrifice. Turnus shall fall extended
on the
plain, And, in this omen, is
already slain. Prepar'd in arms, pursue
your happy
chance; That none unwarn'd may
plead his
ignorance, And I, at Heav'n's
appointed hour,
may find Your warlike ensigns
waving in the
wind. Meantime the rites and
fun'ral pomps
prepare, Due to your dead
companions of the
war: The last respect the
living can
bestow, To shield their shadows
from contempt
below. That conquer'd earth be
theirs,
for which they fought, And which for us with
their own
blood they bought; But first the corpse of
our unhappy
friend To the sad city of Evander
send, Who, not inglorious, in
his age's
bloom, Was hurried hence by too
severe
a doom." Thus, weeping while
he spoke,
he took his way, Where, new in death,
lamented Pallas
lay. Acoetes watch'd the
corpse; whose
youth deserv'd The father's trust; and
now the
son he serv'd With equal faith, but less
auspicious
care. Th' attendants of the
slain his
sorrow share. A troop of Trojans mix'd
with these
appear, And mourning matrons with
dishevel'd
hair. Soon as the prince
appears, they
raise a cry; All beat their breasts,
and echoes
rend the sky. They rear his drooping
forehead
from the ground; But, when AEneas view'd
the grisly
wound Which Pallas in his manly
bosom
bore, And the fair flesh
distain'd with
purple gore; First, melting into tears,
the pious
man Deplor'd so sad a sight,
then thus
began: "Unhappy youth! when
Fortune gave
the rest Of my full wishes, she
refus'd the
best! She came; but brought not
thee along,
to bless My longing eyes, and share
in my
success: She grudg'd thy safe
return, the
triumphs due To prosp'rous valor, in
the public
view. Not thus I promis'd, when
thy father
lent Thy needless succor with a
sad consent; Embrac'd me, parting for
th' Etrurian
land, And sent me to possess a
large command. He warn'd, and from his
own experience
told, Our foes were warlike,
disciplin'd,
and bold. And now perhaps, in hopes
of thy
return, Rich odors on his loaded
altars
burn, While we, with vain
officious pomp,
prepare To send him back his
portion of
the war, A bloody breathless body,
which
can owe No farther debt, but to
the pow'rs
below. The wretched father, ere
his race
is run, Shall view the fun'ral
honors of
his son. These are my triumphs of
the Latian
war, Fruits of my plighted
faith and
boasted care! And yet, unhappy sire,
thou shalt
not see A son whose death
disgrac'd his
ancestry; Thou shalt not blush, old
man, however
griev'd: Thy Pallas no dishonest
wound receiv'd. He died no death to make
thee wish,
too late, Thou hadst not liv'd to
see his
shameful fate: But what a champion has
th' Ausonian
coast, And what a friend hast
thou, Ascanius,
lost!" Thus having
mourn'd, he gave
the word around, To raise the breathless
body from
the ground; And chose a thousand
horse, the
flow'r of all His warlike troops, to
wait the
funeral, To bear him back and share
Evander's
grief: A well-becoming, but a
weak relief. Of oaken twigs they twist
an easy
bier, Then on their shoulders
the sad
burden rear. The body on this rural
hearse is
borne: Strew'd leaves and funeral
greens
the bier adorn. All pale he lies, and
looks a lovely
flow'r, New cropp'd by virgin
hands, to
dress the bow'r: Unfaded yet, but yet unfed
below, No more to mother earth or
the green
stem shall owe. Then two fair vests, of
wondrous
work and cost, Of purple woven, and with
gold emboss'd, For ornament the Trojan
hero brought, Which with her hands
Sidonian Dido
wrought. One vest array'd the
corpse; and
one they spread O'er his clos'd eyes, and
wrapp'd
around his head, That, when the yellow hair
in flame
should fall, The catching fire might
burn the
golden caul. Besides, the spoils of
foes in battle
slain, When he descended on the
Latian
plain; Arms, trappings, horses,
by the
hearse are led In long array--th'
achievements
of the dead. Then, pinion'd with their
hands
behind, appear Th' unhappy captives,
marching in
the rear, Appointed off'rings in the
victor's
name, To sprinkle with their
blood the
fun'ral flame. Inferior trophies by the
chiefs
are borne; Gauntlets and helms their
loaded
hands adorn; And fair inscriptions
fix'd, and
titles read Of Latian leaders
conquer'd by the
dead. Acoetes on his
pupil's corpse
attends, With feeble steps,
supported by
his friends. Pausing at ev'ry pace, in
sorrow
drown'd, Betwixt their arms he
sinks upon
the ground; Where grov'ling while he
lies in
deep despair, He beats his breast, and
rends his
hoary hair. The champion's chariot
next is seen
to roll, Besmear'd with hostile
blood, and
honorably foul. To close the pomp, AEthon,
the steed
of state, Is led, the fun'rals of
his lord
to wait. Stripp'd of his trappings,
with
a sullen pace He walks; and the big
tears run
rolling down his face. The lance of Pallas, and
the crimson
crest, Are borne behind: the
victor seiz'd
the rest. The march begins: the
trumpets hoarsely
sound; The pikes and lances trail
along
the ground. Thus while the Trojan and
Arcadian
horse To Pallantean tow'rs
direct their
course, In long procession rank'd,
the pious
chief Stopp'd in the rear, and
gave a
vent to grief: "The public care," he
said, "which
war attends, Diverts our present woes,
at least
suspends. Peace with the manes of
great Pallas
dwell! Hail, holy relics! and a
last farewell!" He said no more, but, inly
thro'
he mourn'd, Restrain'd his tears, and
to the
camp return'd. Now suppliants,
from Laurentum
sent, demand A truce, with olive
branches in
their hand; Obtest his clemency, and
from the
plain Beg leave to draw the
bodies of
their slain. They plead, that none
those common
rites deny To conquer'd foes that in
fair battle
die. All cause of hate was
ended in their
death; Nor could he war with
bodies void
of breath. A king, they hop'd, would
hear a
king's request, Whose son he once was
call'd, and
once his guest. Their suit, which
was too
just to be denied, The hero grants, and
farther thus
replied: "O Latian princes, how
severe a
fate In causeless quarrels has
involv'd
your state, And arm'd against an
unoffending
man, Who sought your friendship
ere the
war began! You beg a truce, which I
would gladly
give, Not only for the slain,
but those
who live. I came not hither but by
Heav'n's
command, And sent by fate to share
the Latian
land. Nor wage I wars unjust:
your king
denied My proffer'd friendship,
and my
promis'd bride; Left me for Turnus. Turnus
then
should try His cause in arms, to
conquer or
to die. My right and his are in
dispute:
the slain Fell without fault, our
quarrel
to maintain. In equal arms let us alone
contend; And let him vanquish, whom
his fates
befriend. This is the way (so tell
him) to
possess The royal virgin, and
restore the
peace. Bear this message back,
with ample
leave, That your slain friends
may fun'ral
rites receive." Thus having
said--th' embassadors,
amaz'd, Stood mute a while, and on
each
other gaz'd. Drances, their chief, who
harbor'd
in his breast Long hate to Turnus, as
his foe
profess'd, Broke silence first, and
to the
godlike man, With graceful action
bowing, thus
began: "Auspicious prince, in
arms a mighty
name, But yet whose actions far
transcend
your fame; Would I your justice or
your force
express, Thought can but equal; and
all words
are less. Your answer we shall
thankfully
relate, And favors granted to the
Latian
state. If wish'd success our
labor shall
attend, Think peace concluded, and
the king
your friend: Let Turnus leave the realm
to your
command, And seek alliance in some
other
land: Build you the city which
your fates
assign; We shall be proud in the
great work
to join." Thus Drances; and
his words
so well persuade The rest impower'd, that
soon a
truce is made. Twelve days the term
allow'd: and,
during those, Latians and Trojans, now
no longer
foes, Mix'd in the woods, for
fun'ral
piles prepare To fell the timber, and
forget the
war. Loud axes thro' the
groaning groves
resound; Oak, mountain ash, and
poplar spread
the ground; First fall from high; and
some the
trunks receive In loaden wains; with
wedges some
they cleave. And now the fatal
news by
Fame is blown Thro' the short circuit of
th' Arcadian
town, Of Pallas slain--by Fame,
which
just before His triumphs on distended
pinions
bore. Rushing from out the gate,
the people
stand, Each with a fun'ral
flambeau in
his hand. Wildly they stare,
distracted with
amaze: The fields are lighten'd
with a
fiery blaze, That cast a sullen
splendor on their
friends, The marching troop which
their dead
prince attends. Both parties meet: they
raise a
doleful cry; The matrons from the walls
with
shrieks reply, And their mix'd mourning
rends the
vaulted sky. The town is fill'd with
tumult and
with tears, Till the loud clamors
reach Evander's
ears: Forgetful of his state, he
runs
along, With a disorder'd pace,
and cleaves
the throng; Falls on the corpse; and
groaning
there he lies, With silent grief, that
speaks but
at his eyes. Short sighs and sobs
succeed; till
sorrow breaks A passage, and at once he
weeps
and speaks: "O Pallas! thou
hast fail'd
thy plighted word, To fight with caution, not
to tempt
the sword! I warn'd thee, but in
vain; for
well I knew What perils youthful ardor
would
pursue, That boiling blood would
carry thee
too far, Young as thou wert in
dangers, raw
to war! O curst essay of arms,
disastrous
doom, Prelude of bloody fields,
and fights
to come! Hard elements of
unauspicious war, Vain vows to Heav'n, and
unavailing
care! Thrice happy thou, dear
partner
of my bed, Whose holy soul the stroke
of Fortune
fled, Praescious of ills, and
leaving
me behind, To drink the dregs of life
by fate
assign'd! Beyond the goal of nature
I have
gone: My Pallas late set out,
but reach'd
too soon. If, for my league against
th' Ausonian
state, Amidst their weapons I had
found
my fate, (Deserv'd from them,) then
I had
been return'd A breathless victor, and
my son
had mourn'd. Yet will I not my Trojan
friend
upbraid, Nor grudge th' alliance I
so gladly
made. 'T was not his fault, my
Pallas
fell so young, But my own crime, for
having liv'd
too long. Yet, since the gods had
destin'd
him to die, At least he led the way to
victory: First for his friends he
won the
fatal shore, And sent whole herds of
slaughter'd
foes before; A death too great, too
glorious
to deplore. Nor will I add new honors
to thy
grave, Content with those the
Trojan hero
gave: That funeral pomp thy
Phrygian friends
design'd, In which the Tuscan chiefs
and army
join'd. Great spoils and trophies,
gain'd
by thee, they bear: Then let thy own
achievements be
thy share. Even thou, O Turnus, hadst
a trophy
stood, Whose mighty trunk had
better grac'd
the wood, If Pallas had arriv'd,
with equal
length Of years, to match thy
bulk with
equal strength. But why, unhappy man, dost
thou
detain These troops, to view the
tears
thou shedd'st in vain? Go, friends, this message
to your
lord relate: Tell him, that, if I bear
my bitter
fate, And, after Pallas' death,
live ling'ring
on, 'T is to behold his
vengeance for
my son. I stay for Turnus, whose
devoted
head Is owing to the living and
the dead. My son and I expect it
from his
hand; 'T is all that he can
give, or we
demand. Joy is no more; but I
would gladly
go, To greet my Pallas with
such news
below." The morn had now
dispell'd
the shades of night, Restoring toils, when she
restor'd
the light. The Trojan king and Tuscan
chief
command To raise the piles along
the winding
strand. Their friends convey the
dead to
fun'ral fires; Black smold'ring smoke
from the
green wood expires; The light of heav'n is
chok'd, and
the new day retires. Then thrice around the
kindled piles
they go (For ancient custom had
ordain'd
it so); Thrice horse and foot
about the
fires are led; And thrice, with loud
laments, they
hail the dead. Tears, trickling down
their breasts,
bedew the ground, And drums and trumpets mix
their
mournful sound. Amid the blaze, their
pious brethren
throw The spoils, in battle
taken from
the foe: Helms, bits emboss'd, and
swords
of shining steel; One casts a target, one a
chariot
wheel; Some to their fellows
their own
arms restore: The fauchions which in
luckless
fight they bore, Their bucklers pierc'd,
their darts
bestow'd in vain, And shiver'd lances
gather'd from
the plain. Whole herds of offer'd
bulls, about
the fire, And bristled boars, and
woolly sheep
expire. Around the piles a careful
troop
attends, To watch the wasting
flames, and
weep their burning friends; Ling'ring along the shore,
till
dewy night New decks the face of
heav'n with
starry light. The conquer'd
Latians, with
like pious care, Piles without number for
their dead
prepare. Part in the places where
they fell
are laid; And part are to the
neighb'ring
fields convey'd. The corps of kings, and
captains
of renown, Borne off in state, are
buried in
the town; The rest, unhonor'd, and
without
a name, Are cast a common heap to
feed the
flame. Trojans and Latians vie
with like
desires To make the field of
battle shine
with fires, And the promiscuous blaze
to heav'n
aspires. Now had the morning
thrice
renew'd the light, And thrice dispell'd the
shadows
of the night, When those who round the
wasted
fires remain, Perform the last sad
office to the
slain. They rake the yet warm
ashes from
below; These, and the bones
unburn'd, in
earth bestow; These relics with their
country
rites they grace, And raise a mount of turf
to mark
the place. But, in the palace
of the
king, appears A scene more solemn, and a
pomp
of tears. Maids, matrons, widows,
mix their
common moans; Orphans their sires, and
sires lament
their sons. All in that universal
sorrow share, And curse the cause of
this unhappy
war: A broken league, a bride
unjustly
sought, A crown usurp'd, which
with their
blood is bought! These are the crimes with
which
they load the name Of Turnus, and on him
alone exclaim: "Let him who lords it o'er
th' Ausonian
land Engage the Trojan hero
hand to hand: His is the gain; our lot
is but
to serve; 'T is just, the sway he
seeks, he
should deserve." This Drances aggravates;
and adds,
with spite: "His foe expects, and
dares him
to the fight." Nor Turnus wants a party,
to support His cause and credit in
the Latian
court. His former acts secure his
present
fame, And the queen shades him
with her
mighty name. While thus their
factious
minds with fury burn, The legates from th'
AEtolian prince
return: Sad news they bring, that,
after
all the cost And care employ'd, their
embassy
is lost; That Diomedes refus'd his
aid in
war, Unmov'd with presents, and
as deaf
to pray'r. Some new alliance must
elsewhere
be sought, Or peace with Troy on hard
conditions
bought. Latinus, sunk in
sorrow,
finds too late, A foreign son is pointed
out by
fate; And, till AEneas shall
Lavinia wed, The wrath of Heav'n is
hov'ring
o'er his head. The gods, he saw, espous'd
the juster
side, When late their titles in
the field
were tried: Witness the fresh laments,
and fun'ral
tears undried. Thus, full of anxious
thought, he
summons all The Latian senate to the
council
hall. The princes come,
commanded by their
head, And crowd the paths that
to the
palace lead. Supreme in pow'r, and
reverenc'd
for his years, He takes the throne, and
in the
midst appears. Majestically sad, he sits
in state, And bids his envoys their
success
relate. When Venulus began,
the murmuring
sound Was hush'd, and sacred
silence reign'd
around. "We have," said he,
"perform'd your
high command, And pass'd with peril a
long tract
of land: We reach'd the place
desir'd; with
wonder fill'd, The Grecian tents and
rising tow'rs
beheld. Great Diomede has
compass'd round
with walls The city, which Argyripa
he calls, From his own Argos nam'd.
We touch'd,
with joy, The royal hand that raz'd
unhappy
Troy. When introduc'd, our
presents first
we bring, Then crave an instant
audience from
the king. His leave obtain'd, our
native soil
we name, And tell th' important
cause for
which we came. Attentively he heard us,
while we
spoke; Then, with soft accents,
and a pleasing
look, Made this return:
'Ausonian race,
of old Renown'd for peace, and
for an age
of gold, What madness has your
alter'd minds
possess'd, To change for war
hereditary rest, Solicit arms unknown, and
tempt
the sword, A needless ill your
ancestors abhorr'd? We--for myself I speak,
and all
the name Of Grecians, who to Troy's
destruction
came, Omitting those who were in
battle
slain, Or borne by rolling Simois
to the
main-- Not one but suffer'd, and
too dearly
bought The prize of honor which
in arms
he sought; Some doom'd to death, and
some in
exile driv'n, Outcasts, abandon'd by the
care
of Heav'n; So worn, so wretched, so
despis'd
a crew, As ev'n old Priam might
with pity
view. Witness the vessels by
Minerva toss'd In storms; the vengeful
Capharean
coast; Th' Euboean rocks! the
prince, whose
brother led Our armies to revenge his
injur'd
bed, In Egypt lost! Ulysses
with his
men Have seen Charybdis and
the Cyclops'
den. Why should I name
Idomeneus, in
vain Restor'd to scepters, and
expell'd
again? Or young Achilles, by his
rival
slain? Ev'n he, the King of Men,
the foremost
name Of all the Greeks, and
most renown'd
by fame, The proud revenger of
another's
wife, Yet by his own adult'ress
lost his
life; Fell at his threshold; and
the spoils
of Troy The foul polluters of his
bed enjoy. The gods have envied me
the sweets
of life, My much lov'd country, and
my more
lov'd wife: Banish'd from both, I
mourn; while
in the sky, Transform'd to birds, my
lost companions
fly: Hov'ring about the coasts,
they
make their moan, And cuff the cliffs with
pinions
not their own. What squalid specters, in
the dead
of night, Break my short sleep, and
skim before
my sight! I might have promis'd to
myself
those harms, Mad as I was, when I, with
mortal
arms, Presum'd against immortal
pow'rs
to move, And violate with wounds
the Queen
of Love. Such arms this hand shall
never
more employ; No hate remains with me to
ruin'd
Troy. I war not with its dust;
nor am
I glad To think of past events,
or good
or bad. Your presents I return:
whate'er
you bring To buy my friendship, send
the Trojan
king. We met in fight; I know
him, to
my cost: With what a whirling force
his lance
he toss'd! Heav'ns! what a spring was
in his
arm, to throw! How high he held his
shield, and
rose at ev'ry blow! Had Troy produc'd two more
his match
in might, They would have chang'd
the fortune
of the fight: Th' invasion of the Greeks
had been
return'd, Our empire wasted, and our
cities
burn'd. The long defense the
Trojan people
made, The war protracted, and
the siege
delay'd, Were due to Hector's and
this hero's
hand: Both brave alike, and
equal in command; AEneas, not inferior in
the field, In pious reverence to the
gods excell'd. Make peace, ye Latians,
and avoid
with care Th' impending dangers of a
fatal
war.' He said no more; but, with
this
cold excuse, Refus'd th' alliance, and
advis'd
a truce." Thus Venulus
concluded his
report. A jarring murmur fill'd
the factious
court: As, when a torrent rolls
with rapid
force, And dashes o'er the stones
that
stop the course, The flood, constrain'd
within a
scanty space, Roars horrible along th'
uneasy
race; White foam in gath'ring
eddies floats
around; The rocky shores rebellow
to the
sound. The murmur ceas'd:
then from
his lofty throne The king invok'd the gods,
and thus
begun: "I wish, ye Latins, what
we now
debate Had been resolv'd before
it was
too late. Much better had it been
for you
and me, Unforc'd by this our last
necessity, To have been earlier wise,
than
now to call A council, when the foe
surrounds
the wall. O citizens, we wage
unequal war, With men not only Heav'n's
peculiar
care, But Heav'n's own race;
unconquer'd
in the field, Or, conquer'd, yet
unknowing how
to yield. What hopes you had in
Diomedes,
lay down: Our hopes must center on
ourselves
alone. Yet those how feeble, and,
indeed,
how vain, You see too well; nor need
my words
explain. Vanquish'd without
resource; laid
flat by fate; Factions within, a foe
without the
gate! Not but I grant that all
perform'd
their parts With manly force, and with
undaunted
hearts: With our united strength
the war
we wag'd; With equal numbers, equal
arms,
engag'd. You see th' event.--Now
hear what
I propose, To save our friends, and
satisfy
our foes. A tract of land the Latins
have
possess'd Along the Tiber,
stretching to the
west, Which now Rutulians and
Auruncans
till, And their mix'd cattle
graze the
fruitful hill. Those mountains fill'd
with firs,
that lower land, If you consent, the Trojan
shall
command, Call'd into part of what
is ours;
and there, On terms agreed, the
common country
share. There let 'em build and
settle,
if they please; Unless they choose once
more to
cross the seas, In search of seats remote
from Italy, And from unwelcome inmates
set us
free. Then twice ten galleys let
us build
with speed, Or twice as many more, if
more they
need. Materials are at hand; a
well-grown
wood Runs equal with the margin
of the
flood: Let them the number and
the form
assign; The care and cost of all
the stores
be mine. To treat the peace, a
hundred senators Shall be commission'd
hence with
ample pow'rs, With olive crown'd: the
presents
they shall bear, A purple robe, a royal
iv'ry chair, And all the marks of sway
that Latian
monarchs wear, And sums of gold. Among
yourselves
debate This great affair, and
save the
sinking state." Then Drances took
the word,
who grudg'd, long since, The rising glories of the
Daunian
prince. Factious and rich, bold at
the council
board, But cautious in the field,
he shunn'd
the sword; A close caballer, and
tongue-valiant
lord. Noble his mother was, and
near the
throne; But, what his father's
parentage,
unknown. He rose, and took th'
advantage
of the times, To load young Turnus with
invidious
crimes. "Such truths, O king,"
said he,
"your words contain, As strike the sense, and
all replies
are vain; Nor are your loyal
subjects now
to seek What common needs require,
but fear
to speak. Let him give leave of
speech, that
haughty man, Whose pride this
unauspicious war
began; For whose ambition (let me
dare
to say, Fear set apart, tho' death
is in
my way) The plains of Latium run
with blood
around. So many valiant heroes
bite the
ground; Dejected grief in ev'ry
face appears; A town in mourning, and a
land in
tears; While he, th' undoubted
author of
our harms, The man who menaces the
gods with
arms, Yet, after all his boasts,
forsook
the fight, And sought his safety in
ignoble
flight. Now, best of kings, since
you propose
to send Such bounteous presents to
your
Trojan friend; Add yet a greater at our
joint request, One which he values more
than all
the rest: Give him the fair Lavinia
for his
bride; With that alliance let the
league
be tied, And for the bleeding land
a lasting
peace provide. Let insolence no longer
awe the
throne; But, with a father's
right, bestow
your own. For this maligner of the
general
good, If still we fear his
force, he must
be woo'd; His haughty godhead we
with pray'rs
implore, Your scepter to release,
and our
just rights restore. O cursed cause of all our
ills,
must we Wage wars unjust, and fall
in fight,
for thee! What right hast thou to
rule the
Latian state, And send us out to meet
our certain
fate? 'T is a destructive war:
from Turnus'
hand Our peace and public
safety we demand. Let the fair bride to the
brave
chief remain; If not, the peace, without
the pledge,
is vain. Turnus, I know you think
me not
your friend, Nor will I much with your
belief
contend: I beg your greatness not
to give
the law In others' realms, but,
beaten,
to withdraw. Pity your own, or pity our
estate; Nor twist our fortunes
with your
sinking fate. Your interest is, the war
should
never cease; But we have felt enough to
wish
the peace: A land exhausted to the
last remains, Depopulated towns, and
driven plains. Yet, if desire of fame,
and thirst
of pow'r, A beauteous princess, with
a crown
in dow'r, So fire your mind, in arms
assert
your right, And meet your foe, who
dares you
to the fight. Mankind, it seems, is made
for you
alone; We, but the slaves who
mount you
to the throne: A base ignoble crowd,
without a
name, Unwept, unworthy, of the
fun'ral
flame, By duty bound to forfeit
each his
life, That Turnus may possess a
royal
wife. Permit not, mighty man, so
mean
a crew Should share such
triumphs, and
detain from you The post of honor, your
undoubted
due. Rather alone your
matchless force
employ, To merit what alone you
must enjoy." These words, so
full of malice
mix'd with art, Inflam'd with rage the
youthful
hero's heart. Then, groaning from the
bottom of
his breast, He heav'd for wind, and
thus his
wrath express'd: "You, Drances, never want
a stream
of words, Then, when the public need
requires
our swords. First in the council hall
to steer
the state, And ever foremost in a
tongue-debate, While our strong walls
secure us
from the foe, Ere yet with blood our
ditches overflow: But let the potent orator
declaim, And with the brand of
coward blot
my name; Free leave is giv'n him,
when his
fatal hand Has cover'd with more
corps the
sanguine strand, And high as mine his
tow'ring trophies
stand. If any doubt remains, who
dares
the most, Let us decide it at the
Trojan's
cost, And issue both abreast,
where honor
calls-- Foes are not far to seek
without
the walls-- Unless his noisy tongue
can only
fight, And feet were giv'n him
but to speed
his flight. I beaten from the field? I
forc'd
away? Who, but so known a
dastard, dares
to say? Had he but ev'n beheld the
fight,
his eyes Had witness'd for me what
his tongue
denies: What heaps of Trojans by
this hand
were slain, And how the bloody Tiber
swell'd
the main. All saw, but he, th'
Arcadian troops
retire In scatter'd squadrons,
and their
prince expire. The giant brothers, in
their camp,
have found, I was not forc'd with ease
to quit
my ground. Not such the Trojans tried
me, when,
inclos'd, I singly their united arms
oppos'd: First forc'd an entrance
thro' their
thick array; Then, glutted with their
slaughter,
freed my way. 'T is a destructive war?
So let
it be, But to the Phrygian
pirate, and
to thee! Meantime proceed to fill
the people's
ears With false reports, their
minds
with panic fears: Extol the strength of a
twice-conquer'd
race; Our foes encourage, and
our friends
debase. Believe thy fables, and
the Trojan
town Triumphant stands; the
Grecians
are o'erthrown; Suppliant at Hector's feet
Achilles
lies, And Diomede from fierce
AEneas flies. Say rapid Aufidus with
awful dread Runs backward from the
sea, and
hides his head, When the great Trojan on
his bank
appears; For that's as true as thy
dissembled
fears Of my revenge. Dismiss
that vanity: Thou, Drances, art below a
death
from me. Let that vile soul in that
vile
body rest; The lodging is well worthy
of the
guest. "Now, royal father,
to the
present state Of our affairs, and of
this high
debate: If in your arms thus early
you diffide, And think your fortune is
already
tried; If one defeat has brought
us down
so low, As never more in fields to
meet
the foe; Then I conclude for peace:
't is
time to treat, And lie like vassals at
the victor's
feet. But, O! if any ancient
blood remains, One drop of all our
fathers', in
our veins, That man would I prefer
before the
rest, Who dar'd his death with
an undaunted
breast; Who comely fell, by no
dishonest
wound, To shun that sight, and,
dying,
gnaw'd the ground. But, if we still have
fresh recruits
in store, If our confederates can
afford us
more; If the contended field we
bravely
fought, And not a bloodless
victory was
bought; Their losses equal'd ours;
and,
for their slain, With equal fires they
fill'd the
shining plain; Why thus, unforc'd, should
we so
tamely yield, And, ere the trumpet
sounds, resign
the field? Good unexpected, evils
unforeseen, Appear by turns, as
fortune shifts
the scene: Some, rais'd aloft, come
tumbling
down amain; Then fall so hard, they
bound and
rise again. If Diomede refuse his aid
to lend, The great Messapus yet
remains our
friend: Tolumnius, who foretells
events,
is ours; Th' Italian chiefs and
princes join
their pow'rs: Nor least in number, nor
in name
the last, Your own brave subjects
have your
cause embrac'd Above the rest, the
Volscian Amazon Contains an army in
herself alone, And heads a squadron,
terrible to
sight, With glitt'ring shields,
in brazen
armor bright. Yet, if the foe a single
fight demand, And I alone the public
peace withstand; If you consent, he shall
not be
refus'd, Nor find a hand to victory
unus'd. This new Achilles, let him
take
the field, With fated armor, and
Vulcanian
shield! For you, my royal father,
and my
fame, I, Turnus, not the least
of all
my name, Devote my soul. He calls
me hand
to hand, And I alone will answer
his demand. Drances shall rest secure,
and neither
share The danger, nor divide the
prize
of war." While they debate,
nor these
nor those will yield, AEneas draws his forces to
the field, And moves his camp. The
scouts with
flying speed Return, and thro' the
frighted city
spread Th' unpleasing news, the
Trojans
are descried, In battle marching by the
river
side, And bending to the town.
They take
th' alarm: Some tremble, some are
bold; all
in confusion arm. Th' impetuous youth press
forward
to the field; They clash the sword, and
clatter
on the shield: The fearful matrons raise
a screaming
cry; Old feeble men with
fainter groans
reply; A jarring sound results,
and mingles
in the sky, Like that of swans
remurm'ring to
the floods, Or birds of diff'ring
kinds in hollow
woods. Turnus th' occasion
takes,
and cries aloud: "Talk on, ye quaint
haranguers of
the crowd: Declaim in praise of
peace, when
danger calls, And the fierce foes in
arms approach
the walls." He said, and, turning
short, with
speedy pace, Casts back a scornful
glance, and
quits the place: "Thou, Volusus, the
Volscian troops
command To mount; and lead thyself
our Ardean
band. Messapus and Catillus,
post your
force Along the fields, to
charge the
Trojan horse. Some guard the passes,
others man
the wall; Drawn up in arms, the rest
attend
my call." They swarm from
ev'ry quarter
of the town, And with disorder'd haste
the rampires
crown. Good old Latinus, when he
saw, too
late, The gath'ring storm just
breaking
on the state, Dismiss'd the council till
a fitter
time, And own'd his easy temper
as his
crime, Who, forc'd against his
reason,
had complied To break the treaty for
the promis'd
bride. Some help to sink
new trenches;
others aid To ram the stones, or
raise the
palisade. Hoarse trumpets sound th'
alarm;
around the walls Runs a distracted crew,
whom their
last labor calls. A sad procession in the
streets
is seen, Of matrons, that attend
the mother
queen: High in her chair she
sits, and,
at her side, With downcast eyes,
appears the
fatal bride. They mount the cliff,
where Pallas'
temple stands; Pray'rs in their mouths,
and presents
in their hands, With censers first they
fume the
sacred shrine, Then in this common
supplication
join: "O patroness of arms,
unspotted
maid, Propitious hear, and lend
thy Latins
aid! Break short the pirate's
lance;
pronounce his fate, And lay the Phrygian low
before
the gate." Now Turnus arms for
fight.
His back and breast Well-temper'd steel and
scaly brass
invest: The cuishes which his
brawny thighs
infold Are mingled metal damask'd
o'er
with gold. His faithful fauchion sits
upon
his side; Nor casque, nor crest, his
manly
features hide: But, bare to view, amid
surrounding
friends, With godlike grace, he
from the
tow'r descends. Exulting in his strength,
he seems
to dare His absent rival, and to
promise
war. Freed from his keepers,
thus, with
broken reins, The wanton courser prances
o'er
the plains, Or in the pride of youth
o'erleaps
the mounds, And snuffs the females in
forbidden
grounds. Or seeks his wat'ring in
the well-known
flood, To quench his thirst, and
cool his
fiery blood: He swims luxuriant in the
liquid
plain, And o'er his shoulder
flows his
waving mane: He neighs, he snorts, he
bears his
head on high; Before his ample chest the
frothy
waters fly. Soon as the prince
appears
without the gate, The Volscians, with their
virgin
leader, wait His last commands. Then,
with a
graceful mien, Lights from her lofty
steed the
warrior queen: Her squadron imitates, and
each
descends; Whose common suit Camilla
thus commends: "If sense of honor, if a
soul secure Of inborn worth, that can
all tests
endure, Can promise aught, or on
itself
rely Greatly to dare, to
conquer or to
die; Then, I alone, sustain'd
by these,
will meet The Tyrrhene troops, and
promise
their defeat. Ours be the danger, ours
the sole
renown: You, gen'ral, stay behind,
and guard
the town:" Turnus a while
stood mute,
with glad surprise, And on the fierce virago
fix'd his
eyes; Then thus return'd: "O
grace of
Italy, With what becoming thanks
can I
reply? Not only words lie
lab'ring in my
breast, But thought itself is by
thy praise
oppress'd. Yet rob me not of all; but
let me
join My toils, my hazard, and
my fame,
with thine. The Trojan, not in
stratagem unskill'd, Sends his light horse
before to
scour the field: Himself, thro' steep
ascents and
thorny brakes, A larger compass to the
city takes. This news my scouts
confirm, and
I prepare To foil his cunning, and
his force
to dare; With chosen foot his
passage to
forelay, And place an ambush in the
winding
way. Thou, with thy Volscians,
face the
Tuscan horse; The brave Messapus shall
thy troops
inforce With those of Tibur, and
the Latian
band, Subjected all to thy
supreme command." This said, he warns
Messapus to
the war, Then ev'ry chief exhorts
with equal
care. All thus encourag'd, his
own troops
he joins, And hastes to prosecute
his deep
designs. Inclos'd with
hills, a winding
valley lies, By nature form'd for
fraud, and
fitted for surprise. A narrow track, by human
steps untrode, Leads, thro' perplexing
thorns,
to this obscure abode. High o'er the vale a
steepy mountain
stands, Whence the surveying sight
the nether
ground commands. The top is level, an
offensive seat Of war; and from the war a
safe
retreat: For, on the right and
left, is room
to press The foes at hand, or from
afar distress; To drive 'em headlong
downward,
and to pour On their descending backs
a stony
show'r. Thither young Turnus took
the well-known
way, Possess'd the pass, and in
blind
ambush lay. Meantime Latonian
Phoebe,
from the skies, Beheld th' approaching war
with
hateful eyes, And call'd the light-foot
Opis to
her aid, Her most belov'd and
ever-trusty
maid; Then with a sigh began:
"Camilla
goes To meet her death amidst
her fatal
foes: The nymphs I lov'd of all
my mortal
train, Invested with Diana's
arms, in vain. Nor is my kindness for the
virgin
new: 'T was born with her; and
with her
years it grew. Her father Metabus, when
forc'd
away From old Privernum, for
tyrannic
sway, Snatch'd up, and sav'd
from his
prevailing foes, This tender babe,
companion of his
woes. Casmilla was her mother;
but he
drown'd One hissing letter in a
softer sound, And call'd Camilla. Thro'
the woods
he flies; Wrapp'd in his robe the
royal infant
lies. His foes in sight, he
mends his
weary pace; With shouts and clamors
they pursue
the chase. The banks of Amasene at
length he
gains: The raging flood
his farther
flight restrains, Rais'd o'er the borders
with unusual
rains. Prepar'd to plunge into
the stream,
he fears, Not for himself, but for
the charge
he bears. Anxious, he stops a while,
and thinks
in haste; Then, desp'rate in
distress, resolves
at last. A knotty lance of
well-boil'd oak
he bore; The middle part with cork
he cover'd
o'er: He clos'd the child within
the hollow
space; With twigs of bending
osier bound
the case; Then pois'd the spear,
heavy with
human weight, And thus invok'd my favor
for the
freight: 'Accept, great goddess of
the woods,'
he said, 'Sent by her sire, this
dedicated
maid! Thro' air she flies a
suppliant
to thy shrine; And the first weapons that
she knows,
are thine.' He said; and with full
force the
spear he threw: Above the sounding waves
Camilla
flew. Then, press'd by foes, he
stemm'd
the stormy tide, And gain'd, by stress of
arms, the
farther side. His fasten'd spear he
pull'd from
out the ground, And, victor of his vows,
his infant
nymph unbound; Nor, after that, in towns
which
walls inclose, Would trust his hunted
life amidst
his foes; But, rough, in open air he
chose
to lie; Earth was his couch, his
cov'ring
was the sky. On hills unshorn, or in a
desart
den, He shunn'd the dire
society of men. A shepherd's solitary life
he led; His daughter with the milk
of mares
he fed. The dugs of bears, and
ev'ry salvage
beast, He drew, and thro' her
lips the
liquor press'd. The little Amazon could
scarcely
go: He loads her with a quiver
and a
bow; And, that she might her
stagg'ring
steps command, He with a slender jav'lin
fills
her hand. Her flowing hair no golden
fillet
bound; Nor swept her trailing
robe the
dusty ground. Instead of these, a
tiger's hide
o'erspread Her back and shoulders,
fasten'd
to her head. The flying dart she first
attempts
to fling, And round her tender
temples toss'd
the sling; Then, as her strength with
years
increas'd, began To pierce aloft in air the
soaring
swan, And from the clouds to
fetch the
heron and the crane. The Tuscan matrons with
each other
vied, To bless their rival sons
with such
a bride; But she disdains their
love, to
share with me The sylvan shades and
vow'd virginity. And, O! I wish, contented
with my
cares Of salvage spoils, she had
not sought
the wars! Then had she been of my
celestial
train, And shunn'd the fate that
dooms
her to be slain. But since, opposing
Heav'n's decree,
she goes To find her death among
forbidden
foes, Haste with these arms, and
take
thy steepy flight, Where, with the gods,
averse, the
Latins fight. This bow to thee, this
quiver I
bequeath, This chosen arrow, to
revenge her
death: By whate'er hand Camilla
shall be
slain, Or of the Trojan or
Italian train, Let him not pass
unpunish'd from
the plain. Then, in a hollow cloud,
myself
will aid To bear the breathless
body of my
maid: Unspoil'd shall be her
arms, and
unprofan'd Her holy limbs with any
human hand, And in a marble tomb laid
in her
native land." She said. The
faithful nymph
descends from high With rapid flight, and
cuts the
sounding sky: Black clouds and stormy
winds around
her body fly. By this, the Trojan
and the
Tuscan horse, Drawn up in squadrons,
with united
force, Approach the walls: the
sprightly
coursers bound, Press forward on their
bits, and
shift their ground. Shields, arms, and spears
flash
horribly from far; And the fields glitter
with a waving
war. Oppos'd to these, come on
with furious
force Messapus, Coras, and the
Latian
horse; These in the body plac'd,
on either
hand Sustain'd and clos'd by
fair Camilla's
band. Advancing in a line, they
couch
their spears; And less and less the
middle space
appears. Thick smoke obscures the
field;
and scarce are seen The neighing coursers, and
the shouting
men. In distance of their darts
they
stop their course; Then man to man they rush,
and horse
to horse. The face of heav'n their
flying
jav'lins hide, And deaths unseen are
dealt on either
side. Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus,
void of
fear, By mettled coursers borne
in full
career, Meet first oppos'd; and,
with a
mighty shock, Their horses' heads
against each
other knock. Far from his steed is
fierce Aconteus
cast, As with an engine's force,
or lightning's
blast: He rolls along in blood,
and breathes
his last. The Latin squadrons take a
sudden
fright, And sling their shields
behind,
to save their backs in flight. Spurring at speed to their
own walls
they drew; Close in the rear the
Tuscan troops
pursue, And urge their flight:
Asylas leads
the chase; Till, seiz'd, with shame,
they wheel
about and face, Receive their foes, and
raise a
threat'ning cry. The Tuscans take their
turn to fear
and fly. So swelling surges, with a
thund'ring
roar, Driv'n on each other's
backs, insult
the shore, Bound o'er the rocks,
incroach upon
the land, And far upon the beach
eject the
sand; Then backward, with a
swing, they
take their way, Repuls'd from upper
ground, and
seek their mother sea; With equal hurry quit th'
invaded
shore, And swallow back the sand
and stones
they spew'd before. Twice were the
Tuscans masters
of the field, Twice by the Latins, in
their turn,
repell'd. Asham'd at length, to the
third
charge they ran; Both hosts resolv'd, and
mingled
man to man. Now dying groans are
heard; the
fields are strow'd With falling bodies, and
are drunk
with blood. Arms, horses, men, on
heaps together
lie: Confus'd the fight, and
more confus'd
the cry. Orsilochus, who durst not
press
too near Strong Remulus, at
distance drove
his spear, And stuck the steel
beneath his
horse's ear. The fiery steed, impatient
of the
wound, Curvets, and, springing
upward with
a bound, His helpless lord cast
backward
on the ground. Catillus pierc'd Iolas
first; then
drew His reeking lance, and at
Herminius
threw, The mighty champion of the
Tuscan
crew. His neck and throat
unarm'd, his
head was bare, But shaded with a length
of yellow
hair: Secure, he fought, expos'd
on ev'ry
part, A spacious mark for
swords, and
for the flying dart. Across the shoulders came
the feather'd
wound; Transfix'd he fell, and
doubled
to the ground. The sands with streaming
blood are
sanguine dyed, And death with honor
sought on either
side. Resistless thro'
the war
Camilla rode, In danger unappall'd, and
pleas'd
with blood. One side was bare for her
exerted
breast; One shoulder with her
painted quiver
press'd. Now from afar her fatal
jav'lins
play; Now with her ax's edge she
hews
her way: Diana's arms upon her
shoulder sound; And when, too closely
press'd, she
quits the ground, From her bent bow she
sends a backward
wound. Her maids, in martial
pomp, on either
side, Larina, Tulla, fierce
Tarpeia, ride: Italians all; in peace,
their queen's
delight; In war, the bold
companions of the
fight. So march'd the Tracian
Amazons of
old, When Thermodon with bloody
billows
roll'd: Such troops as these in
shining
arms were seen, When Theseus met in fight
their
maiden queen: Such to the field
Penthisilea led, From the fierce virgin
when the
Grecians fled; With such, return'd
triumphant from
the war, Her maids with cries
attend the
lofty car; They clash with manly
force their
moony shields; With female shouts resound
the Phrygian
fields. Who foremost, and
who last,
heroic maid, On the cold earth were by
thy courage
laid? Thy spear, of mountain
ash, Eumenius
first, With fury driv'n, from
side to side
transpierc'd: A purple stream came
spouting from
the wound; Bath'd in his blood he
lies, and
bites the ground. Liris and Pagasus at once
she slew: The former, as the
slacken'd reins
he drew Of his faint steed; the
latter,
as he stretch'd His arm to prop his
friend, the
jav'lin reach'd. By the same weapon, sent
from the
same hand, Both fall together, and
both spurn
the sand. Amastrus next is added to
the slain: The rest in rout she
follows o'er
the plain: Tereus, Harpalycus,
Demophoon, And Chromis, at full speed
her fury
shun. Of all her deadly darts,
not one
she lost; Each was attended with a
Trojan
ghost. Young Ornithus bestrode a
hunter
steed, Swift for the chase, and
of Apulian
breed. Him from afar she spied,
in arms
unknown: O'er his broad back an
ox's hide
was thrown; His helm a wolf, whose
gaping jaws
were spread A cov'ring for his cheeks,
and grinn'd
around his head, He clench'd within his
hand an iron
prong, And tower'd above the
rest, conspicuous
in the throng. Him soon she singled from
the flying
train, And slew with ease; then
thus insults
the slain: "Vain hunter, didst thou
think thro'
woods to chase The savage herd, a vile
and trembling
race? Here cease thy vaunts, and
own my
victory: A woman warrior was too
strong for
thee. Yet, if the ghosts demand
the conqu'ror's
name. Confessing great Camilla,
save thy
shame." Then Butes and Orsilochus
she slew, The bulkiest bodies of the
Trojan
crew; But Butes breast to
breast: the
spear descends Above the gorget, where
his helmet
ends, And o'er the shield which
his left
side defends. Orsilochus and she their
courses
ply: He seems to follow, and
she seems
to fly; But in a narrower ring she
makes
the race; And then he flies, and she
pursues
the chase. Gath'ring at length on her
deluded
foe, She swings her ax, and
rises to
the blow; Full on the helm behind,
with such
a sway The weapon falls, the
riven steel
gives way: He groans, he roars, he
sues in
vain for grace; Brains, mingled with his
blood,
besmear his face. Astonish'd Aunus
just arrives
by chance, To see his fall; nor
farther dares
advance; But, fixing on the horrid
maid his
eye, He stares, and shakes, and
finds
it vain to fly; Yet, like a true Ligurian,
born
to cheat, (At least while fortune
favor'd
his deceit,) Cries out aloud: "What
courage have
you shown, Who trust your courser's
strength,
and not your own? Forego the vantage of your
horse,
alight, And then on equal terms
begin the
fight: It shall be seen, weak
woman, what
you can, When, foot to foot, you
combat with
a man." He said. She glows with
anger and
disdain, Dismounts with speed to
dare him
on the plain, And leaves her horse at
large among
her train; With her drawn sword
defies him
to the field, And, marching, lifts aloft
her maiden
shield. The youth, who thought his
cunning
did succeed, Reins round his horse, and
urges
all his speed; Adds the remembrance of
the spur,
and hides The goring rowels in his
bleeding
sides. "Vain fool, and coward!"
cries the
lofty maid, "Caught in the train which
thou
thyself hast laid! On others practice thy
Ligurian
arts; Thin stratagems and tricks
of little
hearts Are lost on me: nor shalt
thou safe
retire, With vaunting lies, to thy
fallacious
sire." At this, so fast her
flying feet
she sped, That soon she strain'd
beyond his
horse's head: Then turning short, at
once she
seiz'd the rein, And laid the boaster
grov'ling on
the plain. Not with more ease the
falcon, from
above, Trusses in middle air the
trembling
dove, Then plumes the prey, in
her strong
pounces bound: The feathers, foul with
blood, come
tumbling to the ground. Now mighty Jove,
from his
superior height, With his broad eye surveys
th' unequal
fight. He fires the breast of
Tarchon with
disdain, And sends him to redeem
th' abandon'd
plain. Betwixt the broken ranks
the Tuscan
rides, And these encourages, and
those
he chides; Recalls each leader, by
his name,
from flight; Renews their ardor, and
restores
the fight. "What panic fear has
seiz'd your
souls? O shame, O brand perpetual of th'
Etrurian
name! Cowards incurable, a
woman's hand Drives, breaks, and
scatters your
ignoble band! Now cast away the sword,
and quit
the shield! What use of weapons which
you dare
not wield? Not thus you fly your
female foes
by night, Nor shun the feast, when
the full
bowls invite; When to fat off'rings the
glad augur
calls, And the shrill hornpipe
sounds to
bacchanals. These are your studied
cares, your
lewd delight: Swift to debauch, but slow
to manly
fight." Thus having said, he spurs
amid
the foes, Not managing the life he
meant to
lose. The first he found he
seiz'd with
headlong haste, In his strong gripe, and
clasp'd
around the waist; 'T was Venulus, whom from
his horse
he tore, And, laid athwart his own,
in triumph
bore. Loud shouts ensue; the
Latins turn
their eyes, And view th' unusual sight
with
vast surprise. The fiery Tarchon, flying
o'er the
plains, Press'd in his arms the
pond'rous
prey sustains; Then, with his shorten'd
spear,
explores around His jointed arms, to fix a
deadly
wound. Nor less the captive
struggles for
his life: He writhes his body to
prolong the
strife, And, fencing for his naked
throat,
exerts His utmost vigor, and the
point
averts. So stoops the yellow eagle
from
on high, And bears a speckled
serpent thro'
the sky, Fast'ning his crooked
talons on
the prey: The pris'ner hisses thro'
the liquid
way; Resists the royal hawk;
and, tho'
oppress'd, She fights in volumes, and
erects
her crest: Turn'd to her foe, she
stiffens
ev'ry scale, And shoots her forky
tongue, and
whisks her threat'ning tail. Against the victor, all
defense
is weak: Th' imperial bird still
plies her
with his beak; He tears her bowels, and
her breast
he gores; Then claps his pinions,
and securely
soars. Thus, thro' the midst of
circling
enemies, Strong Tarchon snatch'd
and bore
away his prize. The Tyrrhene troops, that
shrunk
before, now press The Latins, and presume
the like
success. Then Aruns, doom'd
to death,
his arts assay'd, To murther, unespied, the
Volscian
maid: This way and that his
winding course
he bends, And, whereso'er she turns,
her steps
attends. When she retires
victorious from
the chase, He wheels about with care,
and shifts
his place; When, rushing on, she
seeks her
foes in flight, He keeps aloof, but keeps
her still
in sight: He threats, and trembles,
trying
ev'ry way, Unseen to kill, and safely
to betray. Chloreus, the priest of
Cybele,
from far, Glitt'ring in Phrygian
arms amidst
the war, Was by the virgin view'd.
The steed
he press'd Was proud with trappings,
and his
brawny chest With scales of gilded
brass was
cover'd o'er; A robe of Tyrian dye the
rider wore. With deadly wounds he
gall'd the
distant foe; Gnossian his shafts, and
Lycian
was his bow: A golden helm his front
and head
surrounds; A gilded quiver from his
shoulder
sounds. Gold, weav'd with linen,
on his
thighs he wore, With flowers of needlework
distinguish'd
o'er, With golden buckles bound,
and gather'd
up before. Him the fierce maid beheld
with
ardent eyes, Fond and ambitious of so
rich a
prize, Or that the temple might
his trophies
hold, Or else to shine herself
in Trojan
gold. Blind in her haste, she
chases him
alone. And seeks his life,
regardless of
her own. This lucky moment
the sly
traitor chose: Then, starting from his
ambush,
up he rose, And threw, but first to
Heav'n address'd
his vows: "O patron of Socrate's
high abodes, Phoebus, the ruling pow'r
among
the gods, Whom first we serve, whole
woods
of unctuous pine Are fell'd for thee, and
to thy
glory shine; By thee protected with our
naked
soles, Thro' flames unsing'd we
march,
and tread the kindled coals: Give me, propitious pow'r,
to wash
away The stains of this
dishonorable
day: Nor spoils, nor triumph,
from the
fact I claim, But with my future actions
trust
my fame. Let me, by stealth, this
female
plague o'ercome, And from the field return
inglorious
home." Apollo heard, and,
granting half
his pray'r, Shuffled in winds the
rest, and
toss'd in empty air. He gives the death
desir'd; his
safe return By southern tempests to
the seas
is borne. Now, when the
jav'lin whizz'd
along the skies, Both armies on Camilla
turn'd their
eyes, Directed by the sound. Of
either
host, Th' unhappy virgin, tho'
concern'd
the most, Was only deaf; so greedy
was she
bent On golden spoils, and on
her prey
intent; Till in her pap the winged
weapon
stood Infix'd, and deeply drunk
the purple
blood. Her sad attendants hasten
to sustain Their dying lady, drooping
on the
plain. Far from their sight the
trembling
Aruns flies, With beating heart, and
fear confus'd
with joys; Nor dares he farther to
pursue his
blow, Or ev'n to bear the sight
of his
expiring foe. As, when the wolf has torn
a bullock's
hide At unawares, or ranch'd a
shepherd's
side, Conscious of his audacious
deed,
he flies, And claps his quiv'ring
tail between
his thighs: So, speeding once, the
wretch no
more attends, But, spurring forward,
herds among
his friends. She wrench'd the
jav'lin
with her dying hands, But wedg'd within her
breast the
weapon stands; The wood she draws, the
steely point
remains; She staggers in her seat
with agonizing
pains: (A gath'ring mist
o'erclouds her
cheerful eyes, And from her cheeks the
rosy color
flies:) Then turns to her, whom of
her female
train She trusted most, and thus
she speaks
with pain: "Acca, 't is past! he
swims before
my sight, Inexorable Death; and
claims his
right. Bear my last words to
Turnus; fly
with speed, And bid him timely to my
charge
succeed, Repel the Trojans, and the
town
relieve: Farewell! and in this kiss
my parting
breath receive." She said, and, sliding,
sunk upon
the plain: Dying, her open'd hand
forsakes
the rein; Short, and more short, she
pants;
by slow degrees Her mind the passage from
her body
frees. She drops her sword; she
nods her
plumy crest, Her drooping head
declining on her
breast: In the last sigh her
struggling
soul expires, And, murm'ring with
disdain, to
Stygian sounds retires. A shout, that
struck the
golden stars, ensued; Despair and rage the
languish'd
fight renew'd. The Trojan troops and
Tuscans, in
a line, Advance to charge; the
mix'd Arcadians
join. But Cynthia's maid,
high
seated, from afar Surveys the field, and
fortune of
the war, Unmov'd a while, till,
prostrate
on the plain, Welt'ring in blood, she
sees Camilla
slain, And, round her corpse, of
friends
and foes a fighting train. Then, from the bottom of
her breast,
she drew A mournful sigh, and these
sad words
ensue: "Too dear a fine, ah much
lamented
maid, For warring with the
Trojans, thou
hast paid! Nor aught avail'd, in this
unhappy
strife, Diana's sacred arms, to
save thy
life. Yet unreveng'd thy goddess
will
not leave Her vot'ry's death, nor
with vain
sorrow grieve. Branded the wretch, and be
his name
abhorr'd; But after ages shall thy
praise
record. Th' inglorious coward soon
shall
press the plain: Thus vows thy queen, and
thus the
Fates ordain." High o'er the field
there
stood a hilly mound, Sacred the place, and
spread with
oaks around, Where, in a marble tomb,
Dercennus
lay, A king that once in Latium
bore
the sway. The beauteous Opis thither
bent
her flight, To mark the traitor Aruns
from the
height. Him in refulgent arms she
soon espied, Swoln with success; and
loudly thus
she cried: "Thy backward steps, vain
boaster,
are too late; Turn like a man, at
length, and
meet thy fate. Charg'd with my message,
to Camilla
go, And say I sent thee to the
shades
below, An honor undeserv'd from
Cynthia's
bow." She said, and from
her quiver
chose with speed The winged shaft,
predestin'd for
the deed; Then to the stubborn yew
her strength
applied, Till the far distant horns
approach'd
on either side. The bowstring touch'd her
breast,
so strong she drew; Whizzing in air the fatal
arrow
flew. At once the twanging bow
and sounding
dart The traitor heard, and
felt the
point within his heart. Him, beating with his
heels in pangs
of death, His flying friends to
foreign fields
bequeath. The conqu'ring damsel,
with expanded
wings, The welcome message to her
mistress
brings. Their leader lost,
the Volscians
quit the field, And, unsustain'd, the
chiefs of
Turnus yield. The frighted soldiers,
when their
captains fly, More on their speed than
on their
strength rely. Confus'd in flight, they
bear each
other down, And spur their horses
headlong to
the town. Driv'n by their foes, and
to their
fears resign'd, Not once they turn, but
take their
wounds behind. These drop the shield, and
those
the lance forego, Or on their shoulders bear
the slacken'd
bow. The hoofs of horses, with
a rattling
sound, Beat short and thick, and
shake
the rotten ground. Black clouds of dust come
rolling
in the sky, And o'er the darken'd
walls and
rampires fly. The trembling matrons,
from their
lofty stands, Rend heav'n with female
shrieks,
and wring their hands. All pressing on, pursuers
and pursued, Are crush'd in crowds, a
mingled
multitude. Some happy few escape: the
throng
too late Rush on for entrance, till
they
choke the gate. Ev'n in the sight of home,
the wretched
sire Looks on, and sees his
helpless
son expire. Then, in a fright, the
folding gates
they close, But leave their friends
excluded
with their foes. The vanquish'd cry; the
victors
loudly shout; 'T is terror all within,
and slaughter
all without. Blind in their fear, they
bounce
against the wall, Or, to the moats pursued,
precipitate
their fall. The Latian virgins,
valiant
with despair, Arm'd on the tow'rs, the
common
danger share: So much of zeal their
country's
cause inspir'd; So much Camilla's great
example
fir'd. Poles, sharpen'd in the
flames,
from high they throw, With imitated darts, to
gall the
foe. Their lives for godlike
freedom
they bequeath, And crowd each other to be
first
in death. Meantime to Turnus,
ambush'd in
the shade, With heavy tidings came
th' unhappy
maid: "The Volscians overthrown,
Camilla
kill'd; The foes, entirely masters
of the
field, Like a resistless flood,
come rolling
on: The cry goes off the
plain, and
thickens to the town." Inflam'd with rage,
(for
so the Furies fire The Daunian's breast, and
so the
Fates require,) He leaves the hilly pass,
the woods
in vain Possess'd, and downward
issues on
the plain. Scarce was he gone, when
to the
straits, now freed From secret foes, the
Trojan troops
succeed. Thro' the black forest and
the ferny
brake, Unknowingly secure, their
way they
take; From the rough mountains
to the
plain descend, And there, in order drawn,
their
line extend. Both armies now in open
fields are
seen; Nor far the distance of
the space
between. Both to the city bend.
AEneas sees, Thro' smoking fields, his
hast'ning
enemies; And Turnus views the
Trojans in
array, And hears th' approaching
horses
proudly neigh. Soon had their hosts in
bloody battle
join'd; But westward to the sea
the sun
declin'd. Intrench'd before the town
both
armies lie, While Night with sable
wings involves
the sky.